Just Fine
by Agent Malkere
Summary: Tempe is forced to deal with her emotions for Booth after his stubbornness gets him into trouble. BoothBrennan all the way! Please R&R! This was started during season 1.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Bones, heck, I don't even own this computer so please don't sue 'cause it's pointless!

Dr. Temperance Brennan glanced up from her work and frowned. Her F.B.I. pest, or partner depending what mood she was in, Special Agent Seeley Booth was standing on the opposite side of the lab table staring down at the remains of the latest victim; he had a white knuckle grip on the table's side railings.

"Female, age approximately thirty-five." She looked at Booth again as he nodded, still resolutely clutching the table.

"Cause of death?" His voice sounded normal… almost. Was it slightly fainter than normal? It was hard to tell.

"Damage to the vertebra suggest the throat was slit. Booth, are you alright?" she asked trying not to let any of her concern show in her voice.

"I'm fine, Bones. Can we stick to the case?"

_Better not push it_, Tempe thought.

"The crenellations appear to match those of a bread or steak knife, that's all I can tell you until Zach cleans the bones. We should have a positive identification for you in a few hours."

"Okay, great!" Booth straitened up and swayed slightly on his feet.

"Booth, are you sure-"

"I'm fine, Bones," the F.B.I. agent interrupted.

_No, you're not_, Tempe thought belligerently, rather annoyed with Booth's stubbornness. _You're pale as a sheet, your eyes are glassy, and, from the way you're sweating, you probably have a fever…. _What she actually _said_ was,

"I've got the last of the findings on the NY case in my office." Booth followed Tempe rather unsteadily up and down stairs from the lab to her office all the while trying to cover up the fact that, to him, the floor of the Jeffersonian appeared to be pitching and rocking and everything appeared to have a double image of another color. He told himself that Bones was just being professionally annoyed that he didn't seem to be in tip-top shape. Well, he was just fine. He just needed to sit down for a couple of minutes….

"What was that you said, Bones?" Tempe glowered at him, temporarily ignoring how ill the F.B.I. agent looked. If he was going to be so stubborn, the least he could do was pay attention.

She did not deem Booth with an answer to his query but instead simply shoved the case file into his hands, spun on her heel, and took off at a good clip back toward the lab and her latest set of human remains. At least bones didn't make sarcastic comments or talk back to you.

"Hey! Bones! Wait up!" Booth dashed after her, hoping to amend what ever damage he had unwittingly wreaked this time. The world spun and dipped as he tried to jog down the long flight of stairs after her in his normal style. He was about a quarter of the way down before his tire mind realized that this hadn't been such a good idea. Booth felt his knees begin to give.

Tempe wasn't sure why she turned around, maybe she had decided to argue with Booth head on, instead of making him chase her the whole way across the Jeffersonian, maybe it was just luck. What ever it was, Dr. Temperance Brennan spun around just in time to witness Special Agent Seeley Booth laps into unconsciousness, or maybe he just fainted, she didn't really care which at that moment. All that Tempe cared about at that moment was that a certain unconscious agent was now tumbling a long flight of stairs towards the ground.

"No! BOOTH!"

_A/N: Review, review, review! It is your reviews upon which I thrive! Please tell me what you think!_


	2. Chapter 2

Her cry echoed eerily off the walls of the Jeffersonian. The world seemed to hold its breath as Tempe's feet moved with what felt like incredible slowness towards the tumbling form of special agent Seeley Booth.

_He's already sick and he could break his neck or his back or get a concussion or – or- _

Some part of her brain informed her that she wasn't thinking logically and that she shouldn't think non-logically because that might mean she'd become emotionally involved and she didn't want that… could afford to be hurt that way again, but Tempe didn't care. All she cared about was the man who had almost reached the foot of thesteps in his awkward, ungainly, gravity induced fall. Booth hit the floor with a sickening thud and lay still, too still.

_No, no! He can't be! He's not... he's not…. Is he? Oh, gods!_ Brennan was down on her knees and searching for a pulse before she comprehended what she was doing. She sagged with relief as her fingers finally found a pulse on his neck. Tempe didn't realize that her hands were shaking uncontrollably; didn't notice that her heart was beating wildly, thundering in her ears. All that she knew was that he was alive… Suddenly, for no reason what-so-ever, Brennan felt furious with Booth. Why had he come to work in the first place? He was sick! Booth should have stayed home, then he wouldn't gotten noticeably worse, and ticked her off, making her leave in a hurry, causing him to chase after her, and finally causing him to faint on the stairs. Yes, she reasoned, it was all Booth's fault. He had scared her so badly….

Temperance glanced down at the prone figure again and all her anger was washed away just as quickly in a wave of concern. Booth still hadn't moved; was he alright? Was he concussed? There were red marks on Booth's face that promised to become bruises and, for some odd reason, the hair just above his forehead looked… wet. She reached out to touch it and found that his hair did indeed feel wet and slightly sticky, and her fingers came away red. Well, _that_ wasn't good. She could almost hear Booth's response to that, "You do enjoy stating the blindingly obvious, don't you?"

She did hear Angela yell and drop her sketch pad and pencils; her world had narrowed down to one man on the floor and… that one man had just moved….

_A/N: That was kinda short, I know, but it's late and I gotta go to bed and I promised myself I'd up date today. So, review, review, review! It is your reviews upon which I thrive! _


	3. Chapter 3

Booth moaned quietly as Temperance Brennan carefully checked to make sure that he hadn't damaged his neck or spine. Her fingers wouldn't stop trembling, but Tempe told herself that it was just the adrenaline boost she had just endured. Brennan didn't notice Angela kneel down beside her and jumped slightly as her friend placed a hand on her shoulder,

"Oh my god, is he okay? What happened?" Angela asked worriedly seeing distress plainly evident on Tempe's face.

"Booth fainted and fell down the stairs," she stated, trying to distance herself from the emotions fighting for dominance inside her head.

"Booth? Fainted? How'd _that_ happen?" Brennan didn't answer Angela's question, she was distracted again by the agent on the floor in front of her. Booth stirred again and coughed as he slowly regained consciousness. He frowned slightly at the face that swam into focus over him,

"Bones…?" he mumbled, looking confused. "Why the hell am I on the floor?"

"Because you fell. Oh, no you don't!" Bones put a restraining hand on the center of Booth's chest. "You could have head injuries or be concussed and you'll just make it worse by sitting up!" Booth's eyes began to slide closed again,

"'M not concussed, otherwise I wouldn' be awake…." Booth half smiled to himself. "Glad t' hear y' care… Bones…." Tempe's frown deepened as she felt his forehead, just as she'd suspected – burning up with fever. How could a man be so stubborn that he would still come to work, even if he could probably barely wake strait?

_One that doesn't have a life outside of work_, an irritating voice that sounded quite similar to Angela's piped up. _Of course he does_, she retorted. _He's got that lawyer girlfriend of his and, anyway, that was a rhetorical question! But Booth and Tessa still broke up a while ago…. …Oh, great. Now I'm having arguments with myself, and losing! _

"So what do we do now? Besides panic, I mean," asked Angela anxiously, interrupting Brennan's internal debate. Tempe had a very strange look on her face and Angela was starting to wonder if she had been wrong after all about Temperance's feelings for Booth. Maybe _she_ had _pushed _Booth down the stairs, though, for the life of her, Ange couldn't imagine why.

Booth looked horrible. His face was ashen and he seemed to be bleeding from a gash just below his hairline. There were the beings of bruises all over the far left side of his face and he was drenched in sweat. Other than the bruises and cut, Angela was fairly certain that those symptoms had _not_ been caused by the fall.

"We get him home," Tempe said slowly as though not quite comprehending what she herself was saying. "And then we call a doctor. He only bruised himself in the fall, nothing serious, but he's really sick."

"Yeah, I kinda figured that one out myself, Sweetie. And what is he suppose to do when he's home? It's not as though he's going to be able to fend for himself." Brennan thought for a moment,

"I'll bring some of my work and stay to keep an eye on him until something gets figured out." Angela stared at her for a moment, but her silent shock at Brennan's statement was interrupted by two surprised yelps from Zach and Hodgins, who dropped his coffee and luckily not the large glass jar of beetles in his other hand.

"Ummm…" began Hodgins. "Is this going to be our next murder victim? If so, I think I just remembered I left something highly flammable on my stove at home, so if you'll excuse me-" Brennan sighed and glared at Hodgins,

"He's _not_ dead!"

_A/N: Review, review, review! It is your reviews upon which I thrive and am inspired to write more!_


	4. Chapter 4

"So, anyone got a plan on how to get him to Brennan's car?" asked Hodgins staring down at the prone FBI agent. Temperance had gone back to her office to get some work to take to Booth's apartment with her and had left her brain trust with the vexing problem of how to move Booth. Angela snapped her fingers,

"Wheelchair!"

"And just where are we going to get a wheelchair?" Hodgins shot back, annoyed that he hadn't thought of that.

"There are always a couple folded up by the main doors. Dr. Goodman told me they're there incase of an emergency."

"Alright then, I'll go get a wheelchair; Zach, you stay here."

"I wasn't planning on moving."

"Good, well don't."

Tempe quickly packed up her laptop and the assorted files she'd been working on. She couldn't _believe_ what had just happened. No, actually, she could, it was a distinctly 'Booth' thing to do – work until you collapse. Truth be told, it sounded very much like something _she'd_ do as well. Only Tempe had a far harder time getting away with it because Ange was always popping in at unexpected times to check on her and make sure Tempe _wasn't_ working too much.

Stuffing all of her work into her black shoulder bag, Tempe hurried out of her office just in time to witness Zach, Hodgins, and Angela attempt to get a semi-conscious Booth into a wheelchair.

"No, I c'n walk," Booth mumbled struggling to stand up. Tempe sighed and jogged on the flight of stairs to help her crew.

"I'm jus' _fine_," Booth repeated, not noticing Tempe's appearance at his side. She sighed; there was only one way they were going to get him in that wheelchair,

"Zach, Hodgins, let him stand up." The two men gaped at her along with Angela. Booth just half smiled,

"See? Finally a voice of reason. I-" His words were cut short as Zach and Hodgins hoisted the agent to his feet. Booth groaned as the world began to spin and dip again and half collapsed into the wheelchair of his own accord.

"You win," he grumbled pressing a trembling hand to his forehead. Tempe glanced down at him worriedly as Hodgins began to wheel Booth out towards the parking lot. She needed to get him home and to bed very, very quickly. Brennan bit her lip as she tried to decide on the best course of action once she got him home, but as they reached the parking lot a loud voice interrupted her thoughts,

"What the _hell_ is going on here?" Cullen came striding towards her angrily.

"Sir!" Booth automatically tried to stand up, but with even less success than his previous attempt and he crumpled back into his seat with a moan. Cullen barely glanced at him, choosing his usual course of action instead – blame the squint.

"What have you been doing to my agent?" he snarled barely inches away from Tempe's face.

"I haven't done anything to Booth."

"Oh, don't try and get cute with me. You've obviously done _something_ to him!"

"Actually," Brennan snapped out of irritation with Cullen and her worry for Booth, "It's more what your agent has been doing to _himself_."

"What?"

"He's extremely sick, but was too stubborn to admit the fact and came in today _anyway_," she glared at Cullen, "He then proceeded to faint going down one of the Jeffersonian's longest flight of stairs and fall down them, hence, the wheelchair."

"Oh," Cullen shifted on his feet uncomfortably. "And you're what? Taking him home?"

"Yes."

"Well then, in light of the circumstances, carry on." Cullen walked swiftly away, an embarrassed look on his face.

"Should I applaud or something?" asked Hodgins, grinning. Tempe flashed him a quick smile back, then refocused her attention on Booth,

"Come on, let's get him to the car!"

_A/N: Review, review, review! It is your review upon which I thrive and am inspired to write more! Lots more!_


	5. Chapter 5

Tempe glanced over at the passenger seat of her car where Booth was sitting; she and Hodgins hadn't been able to get him into his own car - it was too high off the ground. Booth wasn't sitting really… more slouching while attempting to look far more alter than he actually was. Did he ever let himself rest? Tempe shook her head, she already knew the answer to that question; no. Why did he hide so much? He should more open and honest with himself.

_Hypocrite_, whispered a small voice in Brennan's head; it sounded distinctly like Angela's. Temperance rolled her eyes and kept driving. The silence, for some reason was eating away at her, which was odd. She normally _liked_ silence. Oh, well, it was time to act 'normal', as Angela put it, and try to start a conversation,

"So," Tempe began, "What was wrong with Cullen today? I know he doesn't like me that much, but he's usually more subtle about it." Booth turned slightly to face her,

"Go easy on him; he's having a rough time."

"How so?"

"You remember his daughter, Amy?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, well, she's taken a turn for the worse. The doctors are only giving her a few more weeks to live."

"Oh."

"So, yeah, his temper has been kinda short lately."

_That was brilliant_, thought Tempe sarcastically, _what a lovely conversation starter I am._

For the remainder of the drive Tempe held her silence, even if it felt like it was swallowing her whole. After about fifteen minutes, she pulled up in front of Booth's apartment building. Booth tried to straiten up in his seat,

"No wheelchair," he said flatly. Tempe simply glared at him,

"Well, I'mnot going to carry you." The agent's shoulders slumped as he realized that it was useless to argue and, besides, he too exhausted and his mind was in too much of a fuzz to be able to put up much of an argument. Tempe popped the trunk of the car and dragged out what Booth had already started to think of as "the cursed chair." Then, pulling open his door, she helped a very put out Booth into his transportation.

Many stares followed Booth across the parking lot, through the lobby, and to the elevators. Tempe frowned at the many buttons for the various floors,

"Which floor are you on again?" she asked. Booth had his eyes closed in an effort to make the world stop spinning,

"Fourth floor." Tempe pushed the appropriate button and waited as the elevator began to ascend upwards.

"You didn't have to do this, you know…." Tempe glanced over in confusion at Booth,

"Of course I did. Who else would have taken you home?" Booth opened one eye and stared up at her curiously,

"I could have called another agent…."

"But you wouldn't have."

"True…," he admitted, closing the eye again.

"Hence the reason I brought you home." The elevator binged and the doors slid open. Booth remained silent until Tempe stopped in front of his apartment door; he muttered something about coats having too many pockets as fumbled to find his keys, finally handing them to Tempe. With a sigh, Tempe opened Booth's apartment door.

_A/N: Review, review, review! It is your reviews upon which I thrive and am inspired to write more! Sorry I took so long to up date! Summer is almost here and soon I'll be able to up date things more quickly!_


	6. Chapter 6

_I'm ba-ack! Sorry it's taken so long to up date, I'll do my best not to let it happen again! And since this was started before season 2 – actually during season 1, Cam is not going to be showing up and complicating things – sorry! _

Booth's apartment was fairly small and every time Brennan had stood in the doorway, including now, she had a hard time believing that this was where Booth actually lived. As Tempe pushed the agent's wheelchair through the apartment door, she remembered her first rather childish image of where Booth might live when she had first met him – in one of the FBI buildings broom cupboards. This preliminary idea had been quickly dispelled, however, by rationality, though, it still often seemed that Agent Booth was sleeping in the black FBI SUV he drove or was almost constantly haunting the halls of the Jeffersonian. How else could he find her so quickly when he had a new cause that involved her?

The apartment had a very lived in feel. There was an ancient black leather couch that was starting to wear to gray on the seat cushions situated in front of a much newer looking television, a small clean kitchenette with a rectangular table next to and four chairs around the table. Across the room and slightly to the left was what appeared to be the bedroom and a bookshelf standing next to the opening. Temperance wheeled Booth purposefully in that direction barely sparing a glance for the bookshelf – she could look at that later, after Booth was in bed.

In his chair, Booth was drifting in and out of sleep and consciousness and was starting to lose focus on what was real versus what his imagination was conjuring up. Was he really in his apartment with Bones, or was he still at the Jeffersonian? In his mind he kept switching places as he drifted and therefore didn't really comprehend what was happening as Bones helped him onto the edge of his bed and eased off his suit jacket, tie, and shoes. Booth was convinced he was dreaming and that any moment now he would open his eyes and Bones would be kneeling next to him on the floor of the Jeffersonian lecturing about how stupid he had been to try and run down those stairs when he shouldn't have been at work that day in the first place. Though, Bones probably wouldn't put it quite like that – there would be more technical terms and references to bones that he, up until now, had never heard of and would more than likely never want to hear about again and all this would just make the splitting headache he already had much, much worse. …Though, it would be nice to know that Bones cared, even if it was in her own peculiar way of showing it. As Bones helped him lie down, Booth quickly drifted into an uneasy, feverish sleep.

Temperance sat silently on the edge of Booth's bed, watching her FBI partner sleep. Absently, she brushed a few wisps of his dark brown hair away from the cut on his forehead and inspected what was becoming a spectacular array of bruises across the right side of his face.

"You do seem to go out of the way to hurt yourself, Booth," muttered Tempe as she stood to look for something to clean out the cut with. On her way to the kitchenette where Brennan hoped Booth kept his medical supplies or maybe they'd be in the bathroom, Tempe glanced again at the agent's bookshelf and stopped. On the top, obviously in a place of honor, were all of her books all of which were showing the wear of multiple readings. She glanced curiously over the other titles on the shelves and found two the caught her interest. The first was entitled _The Human Anatomy_ and the second and far more used looking of the two was _A Detailed Study of the Human Skeletal System_. Unable to resist, Temperance pulled the volume off the shelf and flipped it open. Next to the diagrams of various bones Booth had jotted down comments which, to her surprise, all related to previous cases she had worked with him on. Next to C1 through C4 of the vertebrae Brennan noticed that Booth had written "tend to be cut/grooved if throat slit" and under a note scribbled next to a diagram of a female skull a short hand that Brennan couldn't quite read she noticed he had written "ask Bones about."

So, Booth had taken an acute interest in the skeletal system since he had started working with her? Interesting. Slipping the book back on the shelf and storing this new information in the back of her mind to meditate upon later, Temperance started her search a disinfectant.

_Review, review, review! It is your reviews upon which I thrive and I **promise** it will not take me nearly so long to update this time! Though, I would appreciate some ideas on what could happen next please! Thanks for reading!_


	7. Chapter 7

Temperance sat down on the ancient back couch she had noticed earlier and flipped open her laptop. Her publisher had been hinting that she should really be finishing the manuscript for her latest book and with nothing more she could do on the case she was working on – she'd already gone over the x-rays several dozen times – Tempe felt obliged to do so, especially since she'd barely had time before to start and was only on page three. Her publisher didn't know that though. It felt rather strange, trying to write while sitting in Booth's apartment. Booth was asleep for now and hadn't even woken up when she'd applied the antiseptic and bandage to his forehead. Tempe sighed and tried to concentrate on typing. One of these days, Booth was going to work himself to death.

Pausing Brennan reread the sentence she had just written. Well, it wasn't actually a sentence, just a jumbled combination of words. Deleting the nonsense, she started typing again. Concentration was the key here. She needed to focus on what she was doing. What was she doing? Tempe stopped and read the previous paragraph again to herself. Oh, that was right, she was describing the heroine's FBI partner. Finally back on track, she started again:

_Special Agent Alec Richter – special for what, I don't know – leaned on the doorframe of my office and grinned at me in a way which he knew I have always found irritating. To another woman, maybe Richter would have seemed appealing in his dark designer suit, red striped tie, and, as always, strange socks which sometimes boasted stripes or spots in various vivid colors depending on the agent's mood that day. His short dark hair was in a constant limbo between slept-on and brushed never quite one or the other and the fact that today it was it seemed decidedly closer to brushed, meant that case that he had just been assigned to was exceptionally interesting. Ignoring him to the best of my ability, I continued to type up the summary of the latest case I had been working on, hoping against hope that he would go away. I had enough paperwork that I needed to finish without him interrupting me. Ignoring the fact that I was ignoring him, Richter sidled across the office to my desk. He's probably the only person I've ever met who can sidle without looking ridiculous. I glared at him as he sat down in the chair across from me and waved a file triumphantly and teasingly in the air just beyond my reach,_

"_We've got a new case, Scope!" _

"_Don't call me Scope!" I snapped, frustrated by the use of what Richter thinks is his witty nickname for me – why he insists on calling me that, I will never understand – and the fact that the case file was still just out of my reach and moving to grab it from BRichter would be an open submission to the fact that I was curious which I was not about to admit. Here was no way I would let him get the upper hand on me, even for a moment. The agent continued to grin despite my unimpressed tone, _

"_Come on, wait 'til you see where the body is…" _

Brennan stopped typing for a moment and stretched her shoulders. She'd always thought it was strange how easy it was to write about the changing relationship between Agent Alec Richter and her main character, Dr. Rachel Safford. It was like she already knew how each character was going to react and not just because they were fictional characters that Tempe had created. Sometimes, it felt like she had actually met them, went to work and saw them bickering every day. All of which, of course, was completely illogical. Dr. Safford and Agent Richter were just characters in her book. You couldn't meet characters because they didn't actually exist. A brief part of a memory suddenly flashed through Brennan's mind:

_Booth was sitting on the chair in front of her desk with his feet propped up casually next to a stack of recently completed paperwork as she entered her office. He gave her a grin and held a case file in the air, _

"_We've got a new case, Bones!" _

"_Don't call me Bones!!!" _

Glancing at the clock on her computer screen, Tempe pushed her laptop aside and went to check on Booth.

_A/N: Please review! It is your reviews upon which I thrive and am inspired to write more! Sorry for the short chapter – I'll do my best to make the next one longer! _


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: I apologize once again for the wait, but my life has been… well, let's just say a little crazy. However, I'm out of the hospital and am almost completely recover at last! Finally! I'd like to finish off this story in the near future so I'm going to do my absolute best to update way more quickly from now on! Now, on with the story!_

Booth lay with his eyes closed, trying to remember where he was. At one point he had been on the floor somewhere with Bones leaning over him – that must have been at the Jeffersonian. Then he'd been in a wheelchair in the parking lot with Hogins and Brennan and they'd been yelled at by Cullen – what had his boss been doing in the parking lot, anyway? Then he'd been in Bones' car… and then his apartment… Booth decided that it was a pretty safe bet that he was in bed – the floor was never this comfortable.

_I must have been a lot sicker than I thought_. Rolling onto his side without bothering to open his eyes, Booth let out the quietest of groans. He felt terrible. Great, what a time to get sick – right at the beginning of a new case. Bones was probably mad as hell at him by now and busy thoroughly frustrating the replacement agent that the FBI would have sent by now. He smiled slightly to himself at that thought. Nobody back at the bureau believed him whenever he told them about the antics the squint squad –especially their leader – got into.

Somewhere in the background Booth heard his door open. Door open? That was weird. Who else could still be there? His unspoken question was soon answered.

"Booth, are you awake?" Tempe whispered, trying to keep her voice soft and low.

Opening his eyes and shifting around a little on the bed, the special agent peered at the backlit figure of Bones standing in his bedroom door. She was still here, not harassing his poor replacement back at the lab? He didn't know what to make of it.

"Hey, Bones." His voice was quiet, lacking its usual strength, but a faint version of his usual smile was still trying to illuminate his face. "What are you still doing here?"

"I brought you home," Brennan stated trying to tactfully avoid his question – even though Angela had all but stated on several occasions that tact was _not_ her forte. In all honesty Tempe wasn't completely certain of the answer to that question herself, only that Booth's well being had suddenly shot straight up to the top of her priority list, even managing to surpass her work. It was as though in those brief moments as she had watched Booth tumble down the stairs her entire focus had narrowed down to a single person who _wasn't_ dead yet for once. She strongly suspected that there was some sort of psychological explanation for the reasoning behind all of this. She really disliked psychology. Shaking her head slightly at her own thoughts, Brennan tried to refocus her mind. "Do you like soup?"

Booth's brows furrowed in tired confusion. Soup? Why was Bones asking him about soup? It struck him as a very un-Bones question. His mind offered no answers to his question so he just went with the easiest route – just answer the question and don't try to think about it too hard. "Yeah."

"Good." Booth raised an eyebrow slightly as her silhouette disappeared from his door way before rolling on to his side and closing his eyes again. He was so tired….

Tempe walked purposefully back to the kitchen to inspect her options. During her search for medical supplies in Booth's kitchen she had unearthed three cans on soup and a pot and put them to one side. She frowned at the labels trying to decide which one to heat up. There was cream of mushroom, tomato bisque, and chicken noodle. After several minutes of thought she selected the chicken noodle. Wasn't there a series of books about the stuff being good for the soul or something? What did soup have to do with spirituality anyway?

Oh, well, this was still progress. Tempe had gone from having three cans of soup to on and she already had a pot. So now all she had to do was find a can opener….


End file.
